The Windy Days
by Fandemonium-in-the-streets
Summary: This was a small school project that I thought was pretty good. It's a modern adaptation of the 'Good Samaritan' story from the Bible, so I've made it about a homeless person surviving day by day. Please give it a read as I worked pretty hard on representing the homeless community accurately. Leave a review and I hope you enjoy.


**AN: This was another small school assignment that I got a bit carried away with...It was meant to be about 300-400 words...and this is about 1000...yikes...**

**ANYWAY, this is a very serious subject I've written about here and constructive criticism is welcome, but remember people do actually live like this so if you have anything to say in a review (WHICH WOULD BE MARVELLOUS!) remember to keep it respectful**

**ENJOY!**

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The Windy Days

I was so tired at the time; I don't really remember what happened much. I've never slept well during the winter months; I'm always really cold and my feet are permanently wet. So, I was a bit out of it when it happened. Sorry about that. I had been sleeping on the streets for… a little over a year, I think. It was certainly my toughest winter ever. That I do remember. No one had noticed me at first, just another bum begging for money, they must have thought. But a few people did see me. Some I wished hadn't, and others I wanted to stay with me forever.

The first time someone saw me, the wind was biting into my exposed skin and the hail was so loud on the tin roofs nearby, I thought my ears would bleed. I shuffled further into my parka and blanket. The puffy coat was huge and let cold air in and the thin blanket I owned had loads of holes in it. They weren't sufficient at keeping me warm, but hey, it was a hell of a lot better than what others had. I was thankful.

My shoes squeaked against the wet concrete as I shuffled to get comfortable and I think that's what got the attention of her. The sound of the hail was being drummed into my skull, so I didn't hear the woman's stiletto heels as they approached. It was only when a couple coins were chucked at my feet that I realized someone was there. I sat up against the wall and gave an appreciative nod to her-but she had already gone. As I counted the money she gave me- five dollars, brilliant!-I watched her hail a cab and clamber in, shaking out her fluorescent pink umbrella. She was the first person who ever gave me more than a dollar.

The second time was a memory I would have given that five dollars to forget. And that's saying something. It was stinking hot outside with humid gusts of wind, and I had moved into a shopping centre for the sweet, sweet air conditioning. I was wandering around, this time only two dollars in my pocket. I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and huffed in irritation. I was hunting for a cheap pair of scissors. My hair was gritty, greasy and impossible to manage. It would be much easier to chop it off and not have to worry about it. As I prowled the windows, my vision blurred. Confused, I stood still and blinked a couple times. My vision became worse and I began getting light headed. I realized what was happening- I was fainting. This had happened a couple times before due to skipped meals. I hastily sat down on the floor and leant against the window. I felt as if the mannequins were looking at me accusingly. I went through the motions of breathing deeply and staying calm.

As my vision slowly returned, I saw people staring and others whispering as they passed. I pushed them out of my head and closed my eyes. I wanted to stay there forever, but I knew I had to get up eventually. I slowly stood up and decided that I should perhaps skip the scissors and head over to KFC. KFC, with food full of fat, sugar and calories- just what I needed. I saw a man approach me with a small boy plodding behind him. He looked healthy and had a box of new shoes under his arm. When was the last time I had a pair of new shoes? I tried to move out of his way so he could pass, but the man stopped right in front of me, his expression stony.

"You know you would probably live a lot better and not pass out on the floor all the time if you stopped wasting money on booze and drugs," The man began walking away, but turned back again and muttered, "Damn hobos."

Without another word, he tugged on his sons hand and marched away. The boy looked back at me and smiled, but I didn't smile back. I was speechless. That had hurt more than any of the times another homeless person had stolen my money or food, and even more than when I was kicked out of my own house. I had to sit down again after that, my throat had closed up and I struggled to breathe for a while.

The third time was…amazing. I was in the underground begging for money. The air current shifted around with each passing carriage and it felt nice, ruffling through my short hair and massaging my scalp with its cool fingers. It was autumn, with a small sting of summer still and I had shed my parka and extra clothes. I had cut my hair which made my neck feel nice and cool. The Tube was always a good place to beg for money, with loads of people waiting for their trains and rich business men and women with fat wallets and purses.

I walked around, asking different people for spare change when I came across a young man in a suit. He looked at me with a strange expression. It was warm, welcoming and kind, but with a type of pity that didn't make you feel bad. It was a good pity, one that made you feel cared for, like someone was actually concerned and worried about you and wanted better for you. I immediately made my way over to him and asked for a few dollars. He smiled kindly (sadly even?) and took my arms in his, looping it like couples did in the old fashioned days. He steered me out of the station and up the stairs into the balmy night air. It ruffled through my hair again and I hummed appreciatively.

I asked him what he was doing and he replied simply,

"Taking you out to dinner," he gestured to our interlocked arms, "I thought that was obvious."

I felt so happy inside all of a sudden that my eyes began to water. Someone was going to pay for a meal...for me. Me- a homeless, worthless, useless hobo. Actual food, I was going to eat food. It was only a few tears and thankfully, he handed me a handkerchief and said nothing. I was grateful that he gave me a chance to compose myself. I felt that ever since I had become homeless two years ago that all my dignity had been stripped away from me, forcing me to shower in public bathrooms, digging through Good Will bins for clothes and asking for discounts wherever I could.

He took me out to a restaurant and let me order anything I wanted. I was torn between being polite and having a normal meal or doing what my stomach said and eating the restaurant into bankruptcy. I told the man this thought -Carl, he said his name was- and he laughed, saying he would hold me to that. We talked until closing time and he took my arm gently, leading me to a hotel. He said he'd pay for me to stay a night there and he had to half carry me there because I was so weak in the knees.

He took me up to my room and made sure I was settled in. He wrote down his number for me and gave me the last few dollars in his wallet; he had spent all his cash on the hotel room. He told me to call him if I ever needed anything; he said that he wanted to help me. We hugged goodbye and I giggled wetly as he dabbed my tears out of his coat with his handkerchief.

"Thank you," I whispered as he closed the door. He smiled and left, shutting the hotel door with a soft click. The room would only last a night, but all the extras, such as soap, a warm bed, food (which he had paid to be brought up) and his company would last in my memory forever.

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**AN: I hope this was enjoyable for you to read, please leave a review!**


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